


An Unlikely Pair (or, Like a Car-Wreck)

by reenka



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-15
Updated: 2011-05-15
Packaged: 2017-10-19 10:23:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/199810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reenka/pseuds/reenka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What did Harry see in such a whiny, loud, prissy, demanding brat? Wouldn't he like to know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Unlikely Pair (or, Like a Car-Wreck)

Disclaimer: not mine. Awww, shucks.

Author's Note: er... stupid "poem" lines by moi, in case you're wondering. Um. This is the first H/D that popped semi-complete into my head in a while, and I'm sort of glad, 'cause I haven't been writing anything and getting a bit twitchy about that. Hey look, I've still got it... well, I've got -something-, anyway.

 

 

= An Unlikely Pair (Or: Like a Car-Wreck) =

 

 **1 = I can't stand when he's not there**

 

Running after him was the easy part-- the hard part was knowing what to do when Draco's bloodied face stared back at him, utterly expressionless.

"Say something!" he yelled, and slapped him a few times before he remembered to at least try _Enervate_. He tugged at Malfoy's hair as harshly as he could, straddling him and breathing into his mouth. He broke off now and then to bite it, muttering incomprehensible things against Malfoy's slack lips.

It was supposed to be him. It was supposed to be him that got to finish things; him that got the final blow. It was supposed to be him and only him.

"You fucking bastard!" he screamed, slamming Draco's head back against the ground. "Wake up! Wake up and get what you deserve! I'm not finished yet!"

He collapsed, fingers wrapped around Malfoy's throat without his conscious volition. He wasn't making sense even to himself, let alone conscious of the dry heaves wracking his chest. It hurt to breathe for some reason.

"Liar! You're a stupid fucking liar! You said--" he hiccupped, "you said you'll have me, didn't you? You said you couldn't be gotten rid of so easily! Isn't that what you said?! Liar!"

He knew Malfoy was dead, so it didn't make sense that now, more than ever, Harry wanted to kill him; Harry knew he could do it if he just tried hard enough.

It made even less sense when Malfoy slapped him rather hard. "Potter!" His voice was as whiny as ever, even when he was dead, Harry thought distantly. "Get a fucking grip!" And he was struck again.

This time, he woke up to a sharp stinging pain, and Malfoy's annoyed tones in his ears. "Quiet down, Potter! You'd think the world was ending every night at this rate. And they say _I'm_ a drama queen."

Harry hugged him so tight he thought both their bones could start cracking any moment. "God, I hate you," he mumbled into his neck. Naturally, Malfoy squeaked in outrage, trying to break free. "Are you mad?! We just did it not an hour ago, and I want to bloody get some sl-- mmmph--"

He thrust two fingers into Malfoy's mouth to gag him, but he'd never think of blindfolding him. He wanted Malfoy to know exactly who was reaming his arse every time.

"Call my name, Malfoy," he demanded, thrusting harder the longer he looked at him. "Say it!" Malfoy shook his head wildly, as always. "Say it!" he yelled, pulling his fingers out and twisting one of his nipples harshly at the same time as his hips drove forward. "Now!"

"Harry," Malfoy whimpered, and Harry came so hard he slammed head-first into dreamless oblivion.

 

 **2 = I don't like him when he's quiet**

 

It was when he'd come back silent from that summer that Harry realized a silent Malfoy was the worst of all possible worlds.

He'd been ignoring him just fine until then; he hadn't had to give it any thought, even, not until Malfoy took upon himself to merely walk by him without so much as a so-called scathing glance. Harry gritted his teeth, resisting the urge to stick out a foot to trip him. He was way beyond that sort of thing by now; he couldn't be bothered to even give such an impulse the time of day. He was just _pissed_ and Malfoy was still _there_ , and why did he need an excuse, anyway? It was _Malfoy_ , for god's sake.

It made Harry twitchy. He was suspicious almost against his will; Malfoy had to be planning something. He had to have finally gotten a clue and figured something out. He had to know something....

Finally, he couldn't stand it anymore. He had a right to know!

He cornered Malfoy easily enough. The boy was really a sorry excuse for a bloody Slytherin, after all. "What the hell are you up to, Malfoy?!" he demanded while playing rather obviously with his wand.

There. Malfoy scowled, looking pissed. Harry immediately felt better. "Shouldn't that be my line?" he drawled, probably trying to look cool, Harry thought witheringly. "Were you attention-starved as a child, Potter? Is that your problem?"

"You're the one with the problem!" Harry said hotly, nearly bouncing on the balls of his feet all of a sudden. "I know everyone's decided you're harmless now that daddy's put away, but I've still got my eye on you, you know!"

Malfoy actually chuckled, which drove Harry almost past the point of all reason straight into utter rage. "Should I be flattered here?"

"Don't twist my words around, you arsehole!" Harry hissed. "Haven't you figured out you should be afraid of me by now?"

"Oh?" He raised an eyebrow. "And why is that? Your violent tendencies threatening to turn you into a psycho killer already, Potter? Have you finally gotten the taste of blood like a good little Gryffindor?"

"You--!" Harry whipped out his wand, mind scrambling as to just how bad of a hex he could get away with, but Malfoy was already walking away. "Don't you bloody turn your back on me!"

Malfoy's back only straightened, but he kept walking without turning around. The bastard knew Harry wouldn't just hex someone in the back, even if it _was_ Malfoy. Calculating frigid bastard, Harry thought. He just wants to get my attention like this, and I'm falling for it. He was only honest when his mouth was bloodied and his skin broke out in boils from Harry's wand. But Harry had no excuse now, and he knew it.

He had no excuse to stare at Malfoy's back in the library, either, especially when Malfoy didn't turn around or otherwise react except for tearing out the bottom of his parchment and throwing it across the table every half a minute. At least that made Harry smile.

There was no such concept as a 'comfortable silence' when it came to Malfoy. He wasn't good enough to be Harry's enemy anymore, but that didn't mean Harry could trust him not to speak. He was going to make Malfoy talk, one way or the other.

 

 **3 = I don't like him when he's loud**

 

"Why are you always in the bloody way, Potter? Isn't winning good enough for you anymore?"

Malfoy was ranting at him at last, and it should've felt right, except Harry only wanted Malfoy to shut the hell up after going through all the trouble of goading him. "You're the sore loser who can't resist playing against me even though it's pretty much hopeless, isn't it? You should've let Davidson be Seeker this year, he might have won that time I played even though I was sick. He's a fourth year and he's already tons better than the likes of you." Harry smirked. "But I guess you like losing to me, don't you?"

Harry was a bit startled when Malfoy threw his gloves down on the ground between them, clenching his fists in an obvious challenge. "What do you think you're doing?" he said mildly.

"I'll fucking show you!" Malfoy said loudly, the wind whipping his normally gelled hair harshly into his eyes, so that all Harry saw was the hard set of that boyish jaw and the thin line of the mouth. "I'll show you who's gonna be the one who's pissing his pants in fear, Potter!" He stepped closer, and Harry noticed that his whole body was shaking. He sneered, feeling almost satisfied at this, like Malfoy finally figured out how to give him what he wanted.

"Is this supposed to be a joke?" Harry said, though his voice was slightly raspy. He really wanted to slug Malfoy hard right now, but it was only to see the tears in his eyes.

Malfoy was practically swaying on his feet in rage, as if a strong gust of wind could knock him over. Harry had grown over the summer, and now he was more than an inch taller and broader-shouldered. This was really nothing. He didn't know why he was waiting to crush Malfoy like a bug.

He lifted Malfoy's jaw so he could see his eyes-- was he crying? that was just too perfect-- at the same time as Malfoy's fist connected with his stomach.

It was an okay punch as far as it went, and Harry stumbled forward a step though he grunted and hung on to Malfoy's jaw, fingers tightening in pain. Maybe it was the momentum, or maybe it was something else, but he jerked his chin up even higher. He lifted Malfoy's eyes up to the sun so that the white-blond fringe fell away and exposed his eyes, still meeting Harry's in furious challenge.

"I can't stand the sight of you," Harry said, almost nauseous with the heat swirling in his belly. "Bloody loser."

"Fuhhh--!"

Harry's mouth twisted on top of Malfoy's with nearly brutal force, and suddenly Malfoy couldn't be loud enough.

 

 **4 = I don't like him when he's frowning**

 

Enough was enough. "All right, what's wrong?" Harry snapped, not looking at Malfoy. Couldn't he just finish his homework in peace? They couldn't very well fuck _all_ the time (as he'd learned the hard way).

"Nothing," Malfoy snapped back, smoothing back his hair. Harry hated it when Malfoy did that-- not just because it was an annoying tick, but also because it drew his attention to Malfoy's face, which was... annoying.

"Yeah, right," Harry said. "Because you break a dozen quills in a row just for fun. Happens all the time."

"So why the fuck are you paying attention? No one asked you to be here to listen to my quills scratch, Potter."

"Yeah, that would be pretty stupid, wouldn't it. Except that's not what I'm here for," Harry said easily.

"Of course. I forgot, silly me," Malfoy said in a girly tone. "I thought you were here to do my braids and play dress-up instead."

"You're a fucking git when you've got something that bit your arse wrong, you know that?" Harry chewed on his quill, wondering whether he wanted to bother with this fight for a moment. "Then again, you're a fucking git 24/7. So like I said, what is it? You got PMS or something?" Harry was somewhat conscious that if there was one thing he did enjoy, it was getting to talk to someone this rudely without much fear of consequences beyond no sex for a bit, which only meant he had to wank, no big deal. He'd never thought it could be quite this rewarding to just rile Malfoy up without having to hex him anymore.

Malfoy scrambled off the chair with the expected melodramatic flair, which probably meant he was still put out about Harry ditching him at the Three Broomsticks as soon as he'd seen someone he knew. He was behaving like he wasn't the one who made Harry promise over and over on pain of death and disfigurement that he'd never tell anyone anything for as long as he lived, etcetera etcetera. Not that Harry _wanted_ to tell anyone, for pretty much obvious, normal reasons, he thought.

"You're bloody ashamed of this, aren't you? You're ashamed, admit it!" Malfoy burst out, sounding so girly Harry almost laughed. One just never knew what to expect when Malfoy got into one of his moods, he supposed.

"Calm down," Harry said, and Draco's mouth snapped shut for a moment. God, for some reason that made Harry's balls tighten, seeing that sort of unconscious obedience even as Malfoy remained standing in that confrontational manner. "You've got some nerve blaming me for any of this mess. You're the one terrified your father would somehow swoop down upon you even though he's probably in Tahiti by now. You're the one who's still going out of his way to make my life hell when anyone's watching. And _you're_ the one who gets off on being fucked in closets in secret when we could be caught any moment and it would all be over, so don't come crying to me just because you can't take the heat, all right?"

Malfoy's brows drew together and Harry thought he might have actually pushed too far when his mouth quivered dangerously, but then his arm was out and a steady finger was pointed at the door. "Get the fuck out, Scarfuck!" he hissed. "You think you can say anything, do anything, because you don't give a fuck what anyone thinks, do you, not even your so-called friends! I can't believe I thought you understood such a simple fucking arrangement, but how could you, since you were raised in a hovel by those mindless filthy Muggles! I can't believe I let you trick me with your perverted homo lust, you-- you freak! Just-- get the fuck away from me already, aren't you satisfied yet?!"

"Like I want to stay and watch you blubber yourself to sleep, you snivelling ninny!"

The door hadn't even slammed shut before Harry heard the muffled thump of something heavy hitting the wall. His whole body buzzed with the need to have it out, to throw something right in Malfoy's red face, but he knew it'd hurt him more this way, so he left before either of them had to see anything they couldn't forget.

 

 **5 = I don't like him when he's dreaming**

 

The truth was, Malfoy was embarrassingly harmless when he was asleep. If Harry wanted to suspect him of gittishness and various other nasty Slytherin tendencies, he had to make a real effort. Malfoy snuffled into his neck, and his pale hair curled over his forehead like he was a toddler, and sometimes he'd even sigh Harry's name in his sleep, which Harry found kind of flattering in spite of himself, but....

One of the things Harry hated the most was being clung to when he slept, and Malfoy was more than a little clingy. To say he was a little clingy was kind of like saying Hagrid was a little fat. Not that Harry minded, about Hagrid that is, but then he never had to sleep with Hagrid, thank god. When Harry was still awake enough to watch Malfoy sleep, it was kind of all right, being clung to, but as soon as he fell asleep, he felt suffocated. In the dreams Malfoy was always suffocating him, squeezing the life out of him from all sides, somehow growing all over him like poison ivy.

And then, when he finally kicked him away, Harry got _those_ dreams. The ones where Malfoy was lost, or dead, or a Death Eater-- and then there was that dream where Malfoy turned into a Dementor after fucking him and went over to Azkaban to suck out his father's ugly soul, except that led to a scene Harry would really rather forget.

Basically, now that he didn't dream of Voldemort anymore, there was Malfoy to take up the slack.

The only thing worse than having nightmares about Malfoy, in fact, was the fact that Malfoy also had constant nightmares, which was why Harry had stayed with him a few nights to start with. It was more than a little disconcerting to wake up with a tightly-wound armful of Slytherin clinging to you for dear life and sobbing in his sleep. Though it was a small blessing he didn't actually call out his father's name, since that was all that kept Harry from doing some real damage in his frustrated state. Sometimes Harry thought of telling Malfoy about these episodes, but he figured talking about it would be even more awful than actually living through it, so he forced himself to rub little circles on Malfoy's back and make soft soothing sounds and rock a little, all so Malfoy wouldn't wake up too suddenly and start screaming or flailing around in the middle of the night. If that happened, Harry feared he'd _never_ get to sleep.

As it was, Malfoy woke up several times throughout the night anyway, petulant and sulky and often enough rubbing himself against Harry's thigh in an obvious demand for comfort.

"Happy now?" Harry mumbled around Draco's cock, but of course Malfoy wasn't paying attention now that he'd gotten what he wanted. "You big baby," he sighed, flopping his head against the other's stomach.

"'M too tired for sweet talk, sugarlips," Draco mumbled sleepily, and Harry groaned. "'Sides, you're the one sucking, no?"

He hated relationships, he thought.

 

 **6 = When he's happy, I don't care**

 

"So what now?" Malfoy said, head slightly bent and his hands in trouser pockets, almost succeeding in looking like he didn't give a damn. Harry thought he should really work on perfecting that look; he couldn't believe he'd ever fallen for it, it was so painfully transparent.

"What do you mean, what? What's it to you?"

Malfoy's mouth twisted in an all too familiar manner, like he'd eaten something worse than a lemon, and Harry felt that answering slice of sourness that told him he still despised Malfoy and everything he stood for, even though... well. Even though they were standing alone by the lake, and the last party of their last year of Hogwarts was already a fading memory. Even though Malfoy seemed to think Harry owed him some kind of explanation.

"Nothing, Potter. The same as you. Just making idle conversation."

"So why don't you make it somewhere else?"

"Why? Am I intruding on your precious space?" Malfoy grinned slowly, probably thinking he sensed an opening. "Is my presence _bothering_ you?" he sing-songed.

"You don't bother me," Harry said tightly. It was a dark night, and the moon was barely out from under all the clouds, so of course there were no stars. It was some months since Harry last looked for Sirius, but some part of him would still be aware if it was on the horizon regardless. There were some people whose presence never seemed to leave him even though they did. They all did.

"And this doesn't bother you either, hmm?" Malfoy smirked, looking almost catlike in the faint moonlight as he cupped Harry's traitorous bulge. It was one of those rare moments of eloquence which struck Malfoy without warning, and which Harry usually found a bit unsettling. "Looks painful."

"That's-- that's--" he gasped, "it's-- ahh-- nothing--"

Malfoy was positively gleeful now, obviously believing this was proof of something or other. Harry really meant to tell him how stupid and naive and just plain wrong he was, but it was difficult to enunciate while panting.

"Is there something you still want from me, Potter?" Harry growled and tried to knock Malfoy's hand away half-heartedly. "No? Yeah, you're right, this isn't much of anything," he grinned. "Could be bigger. Harder. You know, if you worked on it."

"You really are an insufferable, vain, clueless twat, aren't you."

"Keep going," Malfoy said sweetly, thrusting a hand into Harry's trousers. Harry locked his knees so they wouldn't buckle and breathed through his nose. He could take this; it was only Malfoy and his stupid teasing and his stupid old hand, and-- fuck-- "I'm listening. What was that about a twat? A nightmare, perhaps?" He must've said something else, but Harry was no longer paying attention, concentrating on leaning against the nearest tree-trunk and not giving Malfoy the satisfaction of making noise. So he was a bit startled when Malfoy stuck a finger in his mouth and sucked on it automatically, his mind pretty much relocated comfortably to the head of his cock for the moment.

"You fucking want my twat, too, don't you Potter," Malfoy was saying as he leered at him, and Harry really would've snorted and rolled his eyes except that was when Malfoy chose to stick a finger up his arse and _no one_ could ignore _that_. That would be just inhuman, and anyway he was a normal teenage boy, and--

Malfoy laughed a bit breathlessly as Harry came, cursing loudly and bucking against his hand.

"I'll-- fucking-- get you-- for that--" Harry panted, trying to get his breathing under control, and Malfoy dropped his head against Harry's shoulder almost sweetly. "You can try. You can try to get me if you like," he said with a smile in his voice, "but I'll be the one who wins."

 

 **7 = I just can't stand when he's not there**

 

Harry had taken up smoking sometime within the past year, since he and Malfoy moved in together. For convenience's sake, of course, because it only made sense to sleep where you fucked.

Harry liked smoking because Malfoy hated it. He hated the smell, which got everywhere, and he hated Harry's bad breath, and he hated Harry's habit of kissing him with the cigarette butt still in his mouth most of all. He repeated all of this a number of times each day, too.

Harry smoked now, mostly thinking of how much Malfoy would hate being around him if he was here, and vaguely giving some thought to Hermione's question. What did he see in him?

Hermione was being patient. She had to be very patient with Harry in order to get anywhere and she knew it.

"Don't get me wrong," she said. "I'm not implying anything's wrong. I just want you to admit some things to yourself, Harry. That's all."

"There's nothing to admit," Harry said calmly, blowing a curl of smoke out of the side of his mouth languidly. "The shagging is pretty good, and he's got nowhere else to go, does he? It's not like anything better has come along, has it?"

"Oh Harry," Hermione sighed, reaching out a hand to tug the cigarette out of Harry's mouth. He sputtered, eyes widening.

"Not everyone can be you and Ron," he said, containing the bitterness with the ease of long practice.

"We're not _perfect_ , you know...."

"Yeah, but you know what you want, right? I know he does. You may fight all the time, but at least you're together at the end of the day for a good reason. I'm just there because he's got a nice dick."

"Is that what you tell yourself?" she said with a small smile.

"It's what I know!" he snapped. "Don't you think I've thought about this? Do you think I _want_ my life to be like that? It's fucking pathetic!"

"And how do you know that's what it's like?"

"Because I don't bloody like him, all right?" Harry burst out, jerking forward on the sofa. "I can't even stand to be around him most of the time! We don't exactly have heart-to-heart conversations or exchange meaningful glances, all right? We just fuck! That's what we're good at, so that's what we do!"

"Have you really tried talking to him seriously, then?"

Harry was getting more and more agitated, but he kept going out of habit. This was Hermione; all he had to talk to was Hermione. "That's just it! We can't have a calm conversation. He always says something stupid and wrong that pisses me off, and we wind up on the floor or the sofa or the kitchen counter-- you know.... Unless one of us leaves.... It never changes."

"And is that okay with you?"

He sighed, rubbing at his eyes with the backs of his hands. "Well, it's not like there's anything I can do, obviously, is there? I don't want to stop quite yet, so... I guess he finally has me at checkmate."

"Hmmm," Hermione said, cocking her head to the side. "Looks like that's quite the tangled web you've both woven, Harry." And then she smiled in the oddest way. "Maybe you should come out now, Draco."

Harry's head whipped around and he could only gape as Malfoy stepped out rather calmly from the living room closet. "Miss me, Potter?"

"No need to glare at me like that, Harry. We both know you two needed a little push when it came to some communication. And if I have to be there to mediate for now, so be it."

"Did you arrange this, Malfoy?!"

Draco had turned dangerously red, and was struck momentarily speechless when Hermione laughed.

"Oh no, nothing of the sort! Honestly, can you imagine it? Draco Malfoy, coming to me for help? God, no. I had to blackmail him into agreeing to stick around for this," she grinned. "Didn't I, Draco?"

"She's an evil witch, Potter," Malfoy said with a tiny hint of respect in his voice. "I had no idea."

"I did," Harry sighed, leaning back in resignation.

"So," Hermione continued smoothly. "Want to give a shot to couples therapy? I've read up on it, so it should be almost as good as you'd get from a professional."

"Do we have a choice?" Harry raised an eyebrow, already feeling tired.

"Not as such, no." She crossed her legs primly. "I just don't want to see you so depressed, Harry."

"Depressed?!" he repeated, outraged.

"Yes. And Draco doesn't deserve this sort of treatment either."

"What treatment! He bloody asks for it! No, begs for it!"

"Why, you fucking--"

"What is he, quote, begging for, Harry?" Hermione interrupted, giving Draco a strong 'hold it' look.

Hermione was looking at him expectantly, Draco was, predictably, sulking, and Harry felt unexpectedly awkward all of a sudden. "I-- er-- I'm--" he exhaled. "I don't know. I don't know how else I'm supposed to act. If he doesn't like it, he could bloody well leave."

"And what do you say to that, Draco?"

Malfoy was sneering but managing to also look stricken to Harry, who was used to the subtleties of those kinds of expressions by this time. "He's a stuck-up, selfish, sex-crazed arrogant prick with no thought for anyone but himself and whatever gets him off," he ground out. "With delusions of martyrdom a mile wide."

"Hey!" Harry cried. "That's you, not me!"

"Now, there's not going to be anything productive from name-calling...." Hermione sighed. "And what do you want from him then, Draco?"

"I--" He wouldn't meet Harry's eyes. "I s'pose I-- I believe-- I deserve a measure of fucking respect by now, don't I?" His eyes shot up, and he glared for all he was worth. "Don't I?! I'm fucking sick of his evasions and pretensions and the way he acts like he's the only one who's had to give anything up for this stupid farce of a relationship! He's not the only one who feels kind of sick when he sees who he wakes up to every morning! Except the one I'm sick with is-- is myself," Malfoy muttered, lowering his gaze again.

"Well, that's progress," Hermione said slowly, exhaling through her nose.

"I suppose now you want me to say I'm sorry, don't you," Harry said mockingly.

"I just want you to give a damn, but that's asking way too fucking much, isn't it?"

"Why would you think that?" Harry said, voice rising dangerously. "Why the hell would I stick around, then, even though I feel kind of sick in the mornings, as you so brilliantly put?"

"I don't know," Malfoy said dully. "Because I'm a great shag and it's convenient, I think you said?"

"You should know that's bullshit!" Harry yelled.

"And how am I supposed to know that little tidbit of information, pray tell?"

They'd both risen and stood facing each other in the middle of the room, completely ignoring Hermione, who was watching them with the dumbstruck yet horrified expression of one watching a car-wreck without being able to do anything about it.

"Because you fucking know I love you, you clueless fucking nitwit!" Harry yelled even louder, right into Malfoy's face. His face was as red as Malfoy's now, he knew it, but nothing mattered except driving that awful defeated dullness from Malfoy's face. If he wasn't fighting him, then what was the point? He was supposed to always be fighting... making Harry fight back... always making Harry wake up and notice and....

"No, I didn't fucking know and I had no reason to know, you huge fucking pillock!" Malfoy screamed, his mouth a breath away from Harry's and his chest already pressed completely against the other's.

"I think... that might be all for today," Hermione said faintly. "I think I'll just let myself out, and--" she trailed off, though neither of them paid her any attention. "Right, then." She coughed and bent to pick up her wand, cringing at the sound of deep sloppy kissing as she Apparated.

 

 **8 = That's why we're an unlikely pair.**

 

The next morning, when Harry woke up he was already licking at Malfoy's crotch, having apparently started in his sleep. He thought this was pretty unfair; there were all these stories about how normal people got woken up by being licked and kissed and such by their lovers, not about how they did it themselves, probably as a bloody conditioned reflex.

Malfoy looked terrible in the morning, he thought, though he didn't have to look up and see. Besides, he was presently occupied. The point was that Malfoy was probably drooling onto the pillow and looking quite spectacularly stupid right as Harry was doing his best to inhale his cock all in one go.

He only did it because it got him off, anyway. It was something about the taste; Malfoy tasted so fucking good, it got Harry close to coming just to kiss him. That was one of the first surprises Harry had about him. Malfoy tasted unfairly brilliant. His mouth, and his collarbone, and the dip of his stomach and just to the side of his nipple....

"Feeling sick yet, Potter?" Malfoy drawled from up above him, voice only shaking slightly.

That was no good. Harry had to work harder, until Malfoy shook and screamed his name like he was supposed to.

"Shouldn't I be asking--" Harry broke off, repressing a shiver when he saw that Malfoy was biting the edge of his knuckles to keep from making too much noise.

Malfoy flushed bright pink when he noticed Harry staring, though he covered it up immediately with a glare. "Well? Are you waiting for the sunrise like the bloody birds, or what?"

Harry fought down the disturbing urge to nuzzle into Malfoy's inner thigh. Draco looked so... cute when he was desperate. "Mmm," he sighed, nipping at the tender flesh instead. "You're a bossy bitch when you first wake up, you know that?"

"Shut up and get to work, you--" Malfoy squeaked, kicking him as best he could.

Fingers squeezing the base of Draco's cock, Harry repeated three little words again. "Say-- my-- name!" he hissed.

"Harry!" Draco cried, as if the word was a prayer and a curse all at once. As if it still cost him something every time he gave in to what Harry demanded of him, as if he didn't want it. As if he wasn't already begging for it.

Something caught in Harry's chest that wasn't desire; that was more raw and painful and twisted, too wrong and too right. And he shivered again, because in the end, there was nothing else.  
~~~~~


End file.
